White Noise
by asimbelmyne
Summary: Her eyes betrayed little, while her actions spoke volumes.


_"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger."_

 _― Emily Brontë_

* * *

Kanan didn't need his sight to know that Hera had slipped into her room unnoticed, steady in the aftermath of Atollon's destruction when she should have been otherwise, something he recognized for the ruse that it was. His memories of her were filled with similarities, a catalogue he'd flip through when the sound of her voice occupied his thoughts like the lyrics of a song, relinquishing nothing and everything all at once. He could imagine the look on her face easily enough, recreating her features one by one, saving her eyes for last. The ice within them would last for days, seeping into her irises until they had turned into steel. His heart ached in remembrance, mourning the loss of her green stare in favour of frost, an expression he'd disliked from the moment he'd first been privy to it. Her anger had turned into anguish, coiling around her heart like a weed, stifling the fire that burned within until thorns had taken its place. She had never been impervious to pain to begin with. Hera hid it well, but Kanan's knowledge of her was extensive, an accumulation of moments as familiar to him as the sensation of her fingers across his skin, spanning the width of his chest, one shoulder to the other. Her eyes betrayed little, while her actions spoke volumes. He could hear the difference most of the time, subtle changes in behaviour that had taken him years to decipher, uniquely Hera in almost every way possible. Her sadness was as palpable as the air he drew into his lungs, cloying every breath until he thought he'd pass out from the pain of it. By the time he had reached the foot of her door, her distress had worsened considerably.

She found him first, breeching his personal space until they were completely entangled in one another, wrapping her arms around his neck in an embrace that felt unrestrained. He could tell she had been crying. It wasn't typical of her to do so, allowing her tears to fall as freely as rain, an act she'd endure when the dam she'd constructed had burst open like a gateway, but this was different. Her hands trailed across his face in silent worship, tracing the slope of his jaw, nose, and mouth in an attempt to catch her breath. He could feel her fingers at the base of his neck, sliding into his hair until it pooled around his shoulders like a curtain, framing his features in darkness. He reached out, overwhelmed by her response. When his hand found the curve of her cheek, his name slipped past her lips like a hymn, a sound he hadn't been expecting to hear from her at all. His heart ached from the sincerity of it and everything that it conveyed. In moments like these, he wished he could see again. There was only so much he could interpret through touch, reacquainting himself with the parts of her he could no longer discern for himself, smoothing his thumb across her lower lip in vain. Her face expressed more than memory had ever been able to. He wanted to see the look in her eyes, desperate to decode the words within, sentences she'd keep to herself in an effort to shield him from her own shattered thoughts, but his understanding of her had been replaced by the sound of her breathing instead. He cradled her face between his hands until her heart had slowed, beating in tandem with his own, rekindling the flames she had fostered deep inside.

"Breathe," he told her, dragging his fingers across her temples, smoothing out the lines that had formed there.

She pressed a kiss into the corner of his mouth, slipping her hands under the hem of his shirt, resting her palm above his heart. His breath hitched in rhythm. He nearly laughed at the irony of it, folding his fingers into the curve of her spine just to keep himself from falling over, but her advances were far more reassuring than his whispered affirmations, taking center stage. Her lips parted, making room for his own. He kissed her lazily, memorizing the taste of her mouth, the sound of her breath, and the shape of her body in the space between them, branding her features into the forefront of his mind so he wouldn't forget what she looked like later on. He could feel her fingers in the fabric of his shirt almost instantly, pulling it up and over his head without breaking stride. He occupied himself with her belt, fidgeting with the buckle until it fell apart in his hands, drifting to the floor alongside his pants, her flight suit, and the rest of their clothing. She filled his waking moments with enough light to render him speechless, painting his world in hues unseen by the naked eye. His love for her was as incoherent as white noise. He gripped her waist tightly enough to turn the tips of his fingers red, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the column of her throat, across the tips of her breasts, and between her thighs, listening to every ragged cry that slipped through her lips until he was certain she could feel nothing but warmth instead of sadness. She arched into his touch, carding her fingers through his dark hair, riding the waves of her release with his name on her tongue, a name that sounded sweeter coming from her mouth than his own.

"Breathe," he whispered into the curve of her thigh. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
